


The Inheritance

by FictionWriting69420



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Loveless Marriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24634720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionWriting69420/pseuds/FictionWriting69420
Summary: The Mayor, the Yale Journal on Regulation, and Fascism all try to get Libertarian's inheritance money.
Relationships: Conservative/Libertarian
Comments: 1
Kudos: 27





	1. Two Hats and a Visitor

"Please take off that second hat," Conservative asked of his husband. He was trying his best to get him to look less goddamn stupid than he already thought he was.  


"I paid full price for both hats, and I'm not about to waste it!" Libertarian answered back. He wondered if this was how most boomers felt about their spouses.  


"If guests are coming over, you should look presentable!"  


A man was coming over to check out the house. He was going to be renting it out for a weekend of god-knows-what. Images of a crack-filled whorehouse flashed through the Conservative's mind. There, there would be a Fay Wray-lookalike hooker tossed around. Everybody would soon die of Chlamydia. It would be an immeasurable flood of sodomy, adultery, and incest all committed at once. He imagined the events would be a lot like the ones his mother warned him about. When he was at the age of five, his mom told him that she babysat for an 18-year-old teenager one night. She said that she walked in on him doing the most morbid of exercises upon his brother's dog. He sodomized it and chain-smoked a cigarette as he cursed out to God,  


"I was but a virgin two moons ago, and now I commit rape, bestiality, and smoking simultaneously, all in the name of the devil!" Conservative felt like taking a long shower to wash the unholy thoughts away. He and Libertarian were leaving for a while, though, and the moderate lib-right ideology wanted to profit. The house would be rented out whether he wished for it or not.  


Libertarian's niece was getting married off to Anarcho-Monarchy for the sake of status. There was no other reason. Anarcho-Monarchy was the crazed son of the king of Monarchyland. The man had a reputation. He set things aflame and tried to repeal important rules in the name of Lawlessness. He would proclaim his own sister as his lover and wife, and the two of them would hold the most debauched of orgies. He would inflict the most brutal punishments upon the serfs. One time a man lied about how many crops he had grown, so the prince stuck a Pear of Anguish into his throat. It consisted of four metal leaves that separated when the screw at the top twisted. The leaves mutilated the man. Marrying off a daughter to him would allow the family to be considered noble. For the girl, however, it would be a miserable plague.  


She wouldn't even get the joy of showing up to her wedding party, because she would have to be leaving the country right away. Hell, her parents wouldn't be there either. They were going to be at another party where there would be better food and better sex.  


"Don't slouch! You should stand up straight with your shoulders back, both literally and metaphorically. That is the first chapter in 12 Rules for Life, you know," said the Conservative. He felt ashamed after saying that as if he was not worthy of speaking the name of that holy book. He could hear Saint Dr. Jordan B. Peterson (both a doctor and a professor) scolding him in his head. He was calling him a faggot who will never and could never understand the lobster hierarchy. He could hear the voice of his mother too, yelling at him from the grave.  


His mind went back to his childhood. His mother had stormed in and asked him if he had fucked the boy from across the street. The Conservative told him he never did such a thing, but she wouldn't listen. She tied his hands to the bed with rope and proceeded to read bible verses on homosexuality, lust, and masturbation to him. She rubbed the rope against his skin so that it would burn.  


After she had died, his father needed money and wanted status. He was the one who arranged for the Conservative to marry the Libertarian. The Conservative had been the one who had to bury his mother. Despite all that she had done, he thought of her as no less than a saint on par with Dr. Jordan B. Peterson or Mother Mary. As he was burying her, he couldn't help but notice how lovely she looked for her age. She had rather large breasts and shapely legs. It came to the center auth-right ideology's mind that she had resisted temptation very well all her life. Surely, all men yearned to ravish her.  


The doorbell rang. It was the doorstop that prevented the two moderates from hitting their fingers on the slam. It was the doorstop that prevented one of them from going down a disturbing mental rabbit hole. The Christian Conservative went away to answer it, but he worried it was the possible tenant.  


It wasn't. A doctor all in white and holding a clipboard stood with a grave expression. A chill silenced the room.  


"It looks like your husband has pancreatic cancer. It's become terminal," said the doctor while handing him the papers.  


The Moderate Authoritarian Right ideology felt guilty. He didn't feel guilty because he was sad over the diagnosis. He felt guilty because he was happy over it. He would be free of the limitations of his marriage. He would be able to culture war at the Straight Pride Parade again. Before he did that, he would be able to get down upon his knees at the altar of the lobster god and repent, repent, repent.  


"Who was that?" Libertarian asked from the other room.  


"A traveling salesman," Conservative answered, hiding the papers in his pocket.


	2. Hush Money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mayor and the Libertarian have a hush money negotiation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I retract my statements about not continuing the story. I felt sick because I was both sleep-deprived and filled with the natural sense of shame that comes with making a cursed piece of fanfiction or any other sort of fanwork. I would also like to say that when I said the "one hand" thing in the announcement, I was referring to an as of now unwritten part with the Yale Journal of Law and Feminism. I was not referring to any of the other rather unsavory parts. If The Inheritance was Ken Park, she would be Maeve Quinlan.

The Mayor and the Libertarian sat in the town hall office surrounded by silence. The two men passed around a notecard whose number went up and up, higher and higher, every time it moved. It was early morning, and hush money was the boss who hadn't had his cup of coffee yet.  


It had to operate that way, what with all the corruption the Libertarian presided over. The day before, a child had stood in front of a factory contraption. He gazed upon it and saw a cold, metallic monstrosity- a beast unable to feel empathy or love or any other emotion. It was able only to wave its sharpened arms about and wreak havoc on anyone unlucky enough to be a bystander. Hypnotized by terror, the boy didn't notice himself tripping over his shoelaces. He fell into the monster's fingers which pierced and twisted his neck. He left a pool of scarlet behind.  


There was also the foreign arms dealing. When a tyrannical state was beating in a protester's skull, the bats were the Libertarian's. When a firing squad was aiming at a crimethinker, that was money in the Libertarian's bank account.  


After the lengthy quiet, the amount on the notecard was finally enough to content the mayor. The Libertarian took out the money, put it in an envelope, and handed it to the politician. The sight of old Honest Abe's knowing eyes filled him with nostalgia.  


He had seen that visage before, on his father's desk. It sat next to the drug kilos. His father was in the mob, but he wanted to have some form of legitimate power, so he raised his son to become a career politician. Despite his vested interest in his son's future, he was absent the majority of the time. This meant the child was raised by servants who spoiled him rotten. The mayor treasured his silver youth in which it seemed that everything had to be yielded to him. It seemed the whole world, all its lights and sounds and joys, had to flatter his whims.  


There was one single day in that youth of his that he remembered best. It was the brightest ray in the sunshine. He could recall the glory so vividly that it was almost blinding to him now. After a game of War with the neighborhood children, the other's wounds had crowned him victorious. His team forced the two boys who had led the other teams to carry him around as he wore a makeshift crown of dirt, grass, and sticks. It was in homage to the tributes of Ancient Rome. He proclaimed that when he turned old enough, he would cut off all the boy's heads and take all the girl's maidenheads.  


As illustrious as it was, the victory wasn't the best part. Neither was it the pride that came with it. No, the best part, the part that would hang like a shadow over the rest of his life, was the riding with him that wagon was all the "guns" and all the money of all the children. It was the symbol of conquest over Lady Strife, Lady Luck, and Lady Death with the toothed vagina. The sight of it gave him a thrill, a high, with which all the heroin in the world could never compare.  


Nowadays, the mayor thought that there wasn't as much of a chance for indulgence in the simpler pleasures. In his young adulthood, at least, he had the joys of gambling and shooting illegally. Now, his boring mayor job took up his time and forced sobriety onto him. There was also the Libertarian standing in his way. If the mayor wasn't so addicted to the money gave him, if he wasn't so concerned about the consequences of cutting off his ties to him, the Libertarian would have gone to jail a long time ago. The mayor yearned desperately to put his plan into action. The plan would seize every single citizen's guns and hand them over to him, but the Libertarian told him that if he did it, he would stop paying him and send a hitman to assassinate him. After his death, the Libertarian would put another man, a more gullible man in his place.  


Something had been told to the mayor the night before, however, that made the gears in his mind turn. Conservative had told him about the party and pancreatic cancer. If Libertarian died, and the mayor got into the will, he could supplant him in a way, for with the money comes the power. More importantly, there would be no one standing in the way of the gun ban, and the amount of money would be enough for retirement. He could stop being Libertarian's castrated dancing monkey. He could go back to his childhood where every pleasure was at his trigger-happy fingertips. He was attending the weekend celebration, and while he was there, he would convince him, somehow, to pass on the bright torch of power to his palms.


	3. A Spider in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Yale Journal on Regulation talks to his brother.

The sun was down. It was the dark after a bright day when even the candlelights did not burn, not yet at least. The Yale Journal on Regulation was resting after a day of work. He ran a traveling show with stunts and "medicinal" tonics. Instead of music, there was the Yale Journal Choir in its place. They would list off all the important facts. All the lawyers, scientists, and other intellectual types would listen.

The JREG was sleeping next to Anarcho-Pacifism, but he began to toss about. He woke up with a startled look on his face. Despite his distress, he still tried hard not to wake up his spouse. He didn't want Anpac to catch him for what he was about to do. 

With caution, he took up the candle. After leaving the room, he struck a match and started making his way to his brother's room. He was precise and careful in his movements. 

"What are you doing up at this hour?" the Yale Journal of Health Policy, Law, and Ethics asked his brother when he walked in. Despite his nonchalant voice and cigarette smoking, his hands were frantic. They were putting away the clipboard he was reading off of. 

"Couldn't sleep - terrible dream," his brother answered. 

"About what?" he asked. 

The JREG didn't want to answer that. What the fuck was he supposed to say? Was he just supposed to say that he had a dream in which his brother slipped cyanide pills into his drink? Was he just supposed to say that after his brutal murder, he lacked so much in common decency that he had a three-way right after putting him five feet underground? Was he supposed to tell him that after the burial, the spiders dug down deep into his grave, and pinned the horns of the cuckold onto his bony skull? No, he told himself, no. 

"Do you love me?" the JREG asked. 

"Mmhmm, why do you ask?" 

"It's just that I love you can mean a lot of things like shut up for a bit, or I guess we're married now, or I'm pretty sure I love you, but that's not exactly it," he took a pause. 

"I feel like a shit-smothered hamster roller-skating into a school shooting," 

His brother kissed him. He kissed him holding only an imitation of love and lust where shame should have lied. That man was his married brother. His mother was in a room nearby, and his brother-in-law was in another. 

"Cheer up, we've got someplace fun to be this weekend," the health journal said. 

"Where?' 

"Our uncle's holding a party," 

"Health, you know how he feels about me, my career," 

"Come on, JREG, you're the closest thing he's got to a son. His husband sure as hell's not gonna give him a real one," he said. 

The JREG knew he was right about that. There hadn't even been a consummation of the marriage. There sure wasn't going to be any jregnancy. For all his uncle disliked about him, the Libertarian always saw him as a disappointment of a beloved nephew. He never saw him as just a disappointment overall. 

After the conversation, the JREG felt relieved enough to come back to his bedroom. As he was leaving, he felt a sickness in his stomach. He couldn't and wouldn't admit it, but the pain was directed towards himself. It was guilt. It was guilt over how he had taken his husband's and parent's expectations and let down both. He had sacrificed it all at the altars of the false gods, Frivolity and Lust. 

After he was sure the JREG had left, the health policy journal took out the clipboard he had been gazing at before. The doctor had given him the paper in exchange for him not turning him in to the law enforcement. The doctor had been dabbling in several illicit activities. Those included trying to reanimate the dead, drugging people with copious amounts of LSD, and gaslighting patients. This wasn't the first time he had paid off the health journal to not tell the truth. Usually, the bribe would have been money, but the journal had more interest in the clipboard during the negotiation. 

The papers detailed the Libertarian's diagnosis with terminal pancreatic cancer. He could never tell his brother. It wasn't because he thought it would devastate him. It was because he didn't want the competition. The health journal wanted money with desperation. He wanted to, at last, stop being dependent upon his brother's finances. He wanted to leave him and go off to life the life to sophistication and luxury he always thought was due to him. 

When the JREG came back to his room, he saw Anpac. He was sitting up, wide awake. 

"What are you doing up?" asked Anpac in a worried voice. 

"Nothing, go back to bed," the JREG said with hostility. 

He blew out the candle, and the two went back to sleep. In the dark, a spider crawled upon Anpac's shoulder. It sucked and snatched and defecated and fuck, right under his nose, but hidden in the dark.


End file.
